Love is Not Forever
by Aitana Otara
Summary: Alfred is named to be a pig and a horrid lover by Arthur in one of their fights. So he dumped the guy and went off to prove to the Brit that he can do better without him... Only to find that he still loves the guy no matter what. Obviously AU; USUK; Human names used; rating may go up.
1. Night of Dispute

**Love is Not Forever**

Summary: Alfred is named to be a sore loser and a horrid lover by Arthur in one of their fights. So he dumped the guy, went off to become a rockstar and proved to the Brit that he can do better without him. But still misses him.

Rating: T at most for maybe language, I guess. Rating might go higher up once I get to the latter chapters.

Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia.

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**Chapter 1: Night of Dispute**

"Oi!"

Alfred looked up from the television to his lover who had considerately stood in front of him to entirely get his attention. "What?" he asked innocently. His calm blue eyes searched Arthur's angry green ones.

'Great,' Alfred thought. 'Another supposedly relaxing Saturday night is soon going to be ruined… I wonder what his problem is this time.'

"Don't you 'what' me, you bloody bastard!" The thick-browed blond said hotly. He pressed a bag into Alfred's hands and waited impatiently for the other to look into it. "Do explain to me why you are in possession of such disgraceful things, please."

The American, who felt like he already knew what was inside the bag but looked inside it nonetheless, pulled out a couple of porn magazines—which consisted the interest of both straight and homosexual, though more on the homo side. He looked up at his lover. "You mean these? These are all Francis's…" he explained calmly. "If you had looked deeper, then you would have found the older issues which have his names written on them, dear."

"That still doesn't prove anything!" Arthur fumed, unaffected by the added title that Aflred sometimes called him to calm him down. "Tell me why you have them with you if they are Francis's. And don't you dare use your brother's case as an excuse again!"

Alfred sighed. That 'excuse' wasn't an excuse. It was the truth and Arthur didn't believe it. Even if he used that as an 'excuse' now, he'd probably still think that it was a lie.

To be specific, Matthew had a problem with one of the German brothers last week and had to hide his beloved CD collections from the narcissist to ensure their safety in case the albino had decided to throw another party in Matt's house.

Alfred couldn't help but help him. They were brothers after all. And he knew the pain of having to deal with someone like that after enduring high school with the albino and his friends. Although, he could only wonder how Matthew could keep everything under control with his German lover around.

Unfortunately, and to Alfred's surprise when he found Arthur checking some of the untitled, blank-looking ones (which his brother made him promise not to peek into), they contained BDSM footage mostly of only men and know-how's on how to tie the proper ropes, find the correct pleasure and pressure points, warnings when using gags, and the like.

"It was not meant to be an excuse, Arthur," Alfred sighed, feeling his annoyance start to grow at the memory. Even he had to talk with his brother after finding out (which resulted in a little dispute between them as well which vanished after a while). "Anyway, never mind that. The reason why I have these is because Francis said he wanted to change and become a little more modest. But he couldn't seem to bear parting with his collection so he had me keep them."

He didn't add the part where he was free to look through them if he wanted. He knew Arthur would suspect as much anyway. "Don't worry, I'm only keeping them for him," he said. "I'm not going to actually look through them like you did on my brother's CDs. I'm done and away with that stage."

He could still see that Arthur wasn't convinced as he kept his frown on his face. "It's the same kind of excuse… And I was only checking what kind of CDs your brother owned!" The thick-browed blond stubbornly said. "Anyway, you believed Francis, of all people? For all I know, he could be using that same excuse to bring you down to his ranks!"

"Hey, he's a good friend. He won't do that. And he's not like that," Alfred defended, putting down the burger that he held in one hand. He can eat that later. "Besides, why are you so overprotective? You know I won't be easily swayed by someone else and become like them."

"Oh yeah?" Arthur challenged. "Well, do tell me then about the time when you and that bloody coward got together and you started eating pasta and spaghetti with your burgers! Or when you and the tomato bastard became the 'bestest of friends' one day and you started becoming like a pedophile as he did! And god forbid if that should ever happen again…"

"Hey! I didn't go pedo and he isn't one either!"

"Then tell me why he always only picks out the youngest of the bunch?"

"Dating a guy three years younger than him isn't equivalent to being a pedophile!"

"Well then, I suppose you wouldn't mind then if I started dating someone like Matthew, huh?"

"What?" Alfred blinked at Arthur and stood up in surprise at how irrational he was being. "How did my brother get into this now?"

"Simple. He's three years younger than me, which would make him the youngest of the bunch aside from those Italian brothers." Arthur dare not say he'd rather take the coward, all the more would he not think about even saying he'd try to date the hot-blooded, selfish idiot twin of the coward. Both were already taken anyway. And telling Alfred he'd rather date his younger brother would certainly annoy the American more.

"And me being a year younger than you isn't any problem? Arthur, please. You're being childish despite being older then me," the spectacled one said with a sigh, trying to be as patient as he could with his lover, but he was not as patient as he sounded. And at this rate, he didn't even sound all that patient already.

"And you're being insensitive!" Kirkland retorted. "You just have to keep saying yes to everyone, huh?"

"Now I'm the insensitive one!" Jones replied, his patience getting thinner and thinner with every word that passed between them. He stood up and was glad that he was actually taller then the Brit right now.

"Yes! For a good while now, you have been. It's getting really irritating, you know that, Alfred?"

"And all your complaining about small things is getting annoying, too!"

"You think you're the only one annoyed with all the complaining all around here? Honestly, if we were to sum up all of the complaints you've said about my cooking, I'd say that you've said way more than I ever have!"

"Well for your information, I'm only complaining about your food is just because it _is_bad! I mean have you ever even tried tasting it for yourself? Oh yeah, I forgot, you do have a bad sense of taste as well!"

Now that was personal! Too personal. Arthur could feel the tears coming but he forced them down. He had started this somehow, and he was going to finish it without losing. "Why, if you ask me, _your_ food is even worse! All the fat and carbohydrates they contain should be enough to make you as fat as a pig even!"

"Pig? Me? Well, that's a first… You actually have a real insult this time. Where'd you get it? From one of your books? Did Sherlock finally find you a good enough insult?" Alfred said sarcastically.

Arthur wanted to hurt the man in front of him oh so badly. He wanted to punch him and just slap him across the face and kick him in the crotch and just hurt him! It was getting frustrating just holding it in right now. But he had to hold back and get a better retort. He absolutely can _not_ lose this one this time!

"At least _I_ can read! What about you? You've practically got nothing but muscle! I bet your head is as empty as you give the impression that it is! Especially with your loud mouth. Ever heard of the saying that it's the empty can that makes the most noise?" He glared and stood on his toes to level with the American.

Alfred glared back equally at Arthur. Now it was getting really personal for the both of them. Then he made a smug and knowing face and crossed his arms as he stood tall. "Heh, I'm the one making all the noise? Then what do you call all that screaming and moaning when I bang you out of your brains, huh?"

Arthur froze for a millisecond. He blinked and reddened for a bit. "Why you… you bastard!" he shouted now, tears on his eyes but thankfully still at bay. "Don't you ever have any sense of shame in you! You are obscure, incoherent, terribly obnoxious, fat, horrendously ugly and a very horrible lover! You even screwed up our first date!"

"Well, at least I'm not a selfish, sissy, fuzzy-browed, over-the-top, idiot who doesn't know how real food tastes like!" Alfred said, feeling hurt at being called a bad lover. How dare he?

A wave of silence passed them. Arthur hung his head, feeling the tears forcing their way out.

"Get out."

"Hm?" Alfred raised an eyebrow. He couldn't read Arthur's expression since his head was hanging low. But judging from his voice, he was obviously tired of this and wanted it all to stop. Alfred actually heard right. But he didn't want to go. He wanted to annoy the Brit even more and just keep fighting with him until he won again.

"GET OUT OF MY HOUSE NOW!" Arthur exclaimed. He didn't look up; instead he turned his back at the American. He didn't want to show the tears that were now flowing down freely and he certainly didn't want the other to notice the tiny shaking of his shoulders. If he did that, Alfred would know that he'd won.

"Fine!" The American took the bag that contained Francis's magazines, his jacket and the bag that contained the rest of his meal. He didn't bother with the burger that he'd left unfinished anymore. He can forget about that and let Arthur throw it out for him instead.

"I hope you know that this means we're over…" came a mumbled reply.

Before leaving the door, Alfred looked back at Arthur. "I hope _you_ know who destroyed this relationship!" With that, he stepped out and pushed back the door with a slam. Then he angrily stomped to his car. He threw the bags and jacket to the passenger seat and started it.

He drove away, hearing Arthur coming back out and shouting something like, "And don't you dare leave your disgusting food in here either!" Then he heard something else like a thud somewhere on the back of his car. He ignored it. Instead he drove away, sliding his hand out of the window and showing the middle finger to Arthur.

* * *

Arthur waited, his shock over seeing an offending move from Alfred wearing off after a few seconds. He waited until he couldn't see the backlights of the car anymore. And when he was sure that the man was finally gone and away, he slammed the door locked behind him and leaned on it. He cried and sobbed and just let it all out, feeling so empty and hurt. He sunk down on the floor and felt so much going on inside him that he just wanted to explode.

In his frustration, he gritted his teeth and swore and even tried to tear his hair out. He pounded on the floor and cried, cursing and swearing all the words he knew that he thought he could never call the bastard.

He regretted kicking the man out of his house, yet he was glad that he did. He regretted ever being so childish, yet he felt happy that he had been. Alfred had been always so selfish and childish. Now, he had a chance to be… but it brought down the relationship they had both been so careful in building. And now that his lover was out of the house, no one would hold him. No one would comfort him or tell him to calm down. No one would kiss him and apologize to him. And he had no one to apologize to but the empty room.

Arthur sunk even more on the cold wood floor until he was just lying there, curled up in a ball with his back to the door. He had calmed down. How he had done it without anybody being there to calm him down, he didn't know. He just did. But he was a mess.

And so many things passed his mind. Alfred's words came back to him, constantly making his blood boil but he had controlled himself every time he felt like erupting. All of his lover's words came back to him, words that came even before this fight, words from their previous fights.

Every time they fought, insults were thrown and hurtful words were said. But they weren't as bad as they had been today, only enough to tease and taunt. And that was it. No physical abuse, no emotional wounds that could never be healed by a metaphoric band-aid and a kiss.

And after each fight, the two blonds would cuddle and say sorry and make up. Sometimes it involved passionate, intimate action, sometimes it didn't and just a kiss was enough. But they made up nonetheless.

This fight, however, was different. Arthur could tell that it hurt both parties and it would leave them both deep wounds. But it was timely. For the past few weeks, they've been fighting more and more and their fights had been getting worse.

Tonight had been the final straw for both of them, obviously. Despite the small things that they have done to try to save this relationship the past days, they still broke up.

Arthur had seen it coming. But he didn't expect that the end would come so soon. And that was what had been a great blow to him.

And so, with so much occupying his mind, he had fallen asleep in that state—tears dried on his cheeks, his arms around his own body to warm up and carefully hold his broken heart, his thoughts filled with Alfred's sweet touches which he unconsciously used to mend himself with, but failing and only breaking him more and more with each memory.

* * *

A/N: And that's it! Worked on this one for just a few hours, which is a real miracle in my case. I'm just so eager to post this up so if ever there are any mistakes, I haven't corrected them yet.

Anyways, hope you liked it. Not my first USUK fanfic to write, but definitely the first to post up in the Internet. Hm… I was inspired by some of the songs from Adam Lambert's newest album, Trespassing.

Damn, school time's coming up in a few days and I'm still procrastinating. It's not right, I tell ya. But anyways, enough of my ranting. I wanna hear what you all have to say!


	2. A Message

**Love is Not Forever**

Summary: Alfred is named to be a sore loser and a horrid lover by Arthur in one of their fights. So he dumped the guy, went off and proved to the Brit that he can do better without him. But still misses him.

A/N: Regarding the summary, I'm taking off the 'becoming a rockstar' part because I find that really hard to insert into the story. It turns out that I have way more ideas for other things Al can do without the need to become a rockstar, but still being able to prove to Arthur that he is better off without the Brit. So, please forgive me for changing the plot so quickly. And so,** the summary may constantly change.**

Rating: T at most for maybe language, I guess. Rating might go higher up once I get to the latter chapters.

Disclaimer: **I do not own Hetalia. **I'm not in the mood to write up some creative disclaimer right now... = 3=

* * *

**Chapter 2: A Message**

"Damn…" Alfred cursed as his car skidded to a stop. He banged his fist on the wheel seeing the gas meter go down to a glowing red letter E. He should have noticed earlier that he was running out of gas. But he was too angry and frustrated and hurt to care, even right now.

He looked around, seeing nothing but an empty street. From where he was, he could tell that he had stopped somewhere in a more deserted part of downtown. And from where he was right now, the nearest gas station that came to mind was at least a mile and a half away.

'Sucks for me,' Alfred thought bitterly as he rummaged in his pockets for his cell phone. Unfortunately for him, it wasn't there. If memory served right, he had left it in the couch where he had always placed the remote. 'And it gets worse…'

Growling in anger, he looked around the street for a phone booth of some kind. And he found one just a few meters away, under the secure light of a lamppost. He got out, locked the car and fished for some change in his pockets as he walked towards it.

When his cold fingers found the receiver and positioned it by his ear, he pulled out the change and put in a few of them into the slot. Then he dialed his brother's home number. He waited long enough for his brother to get up and walk to the phone, before he heard the dial tone stop and a sleepy voice say a lazy "Hello?"

"Mattie!" Alfred said in his usual cheerful tone. He can spill the beans later. Right now, he just wanted to warm up in a cozy and familiar place that wasn't his home. "Oh, lil' bro, I've got a favor to ask you. Listen, can you—"

"Hm? Who's that, baby?" Another sleepy voice with a light German accent came from the other line. Alfred could hear his brother whispering something like 'It's my brother, be quiet.'

"Yes, Alfred?" Matthew said once he had gotten back to the phone.

"Um… never mind," the elder American brother said. "Just wondering how much the going price for an apartment is."

'Stupid,' Alfred thought. 'Great job, Al… How are you going to explain that?' He could totally picture his brother sitting up from his lover's embrace right now.

"Hm? Why would you like to know? And why are you asking me that this late at night?" Matthew mumbled from the other end. "Al, did something happen?"

"What? Oh no, no… Nothing happened, lil' bro. I was just wondering because… I'd like to… get one tomorrow. Yeah, I'm planning to move out into an apartment soon, that's why." Alfred beat himself up mentally. What was he saying? He was making it even more obvious that he was just kicked out of his lover's house.

Moving back in with his brother (whom he gave the house to a year ago) would just put him in their way. For all he knew, Gilbert could have moved in with Matthew just like how he did with Arthur (and even just thinking about the name of the guy right now made his blood boil).

"Alfred," Matthew said in a more serious tone, one that Al hasn't heard for a while now. "Please tell me you aren't out in the street right now after being kicked out of Arthur's house…"

"I'm not," Alfred said, saying as his brother asked.

"The truth," Matthew insisted.

"Actually… I am. But don't worry; I've got my car and all… I just…"

"Need a place to stay?"

"Yeah."

"Did your car break down or something?"

"No, I just… ran out of gas," Alfred mumbled sheepishly. For a while, there was nothing but the sound of shuffling from the other line. "Mattie?"

"Where are you right now?"

"Um… Downtown, just in front of the old cinema."

"I'm coming. You just stay there okay?"

"Sure," Alfred mumbled before Matthew hung up. He sighed. He wondered why his brother seemed to be the older one—always taking care of him, worrying for him and all while at the same time he made sure that Alfred didn't have room for any more worrying for him.

The blond slowly made his way back to his car, mind reeling from mixed emotions. He was thankful that he could spend time with his brother again, but he didn't want to impose. Then there was his problem with Arthur. He didn't know if he should be joyful that he'd been freed from the scones that the other was so proud of, or be sorrowful that his lover can might as well be gone and out of reach, or be angry that he was the one who was kicked out and humiliated, or if he should feel all the many other emotions spinning all around inside him, clouding a clear mind.

Alfred had just reached his car when something caught his eye. He frowned and moved towards the back of his automobile, where he had seen the thing Arthur throw on the back window. He felt anger burn up again as he examined his half-consumed burger splattered on the back of his car.

Bits of chicken and most of the bun had slid down to the edge of the glass. The chilly mayonnaise and ketchup mixture dripped messily and most of the lettuce and pickles had gone down with the mixture. Alfred had never once thought that he could hate burgers this much.

* * *

A/N: So, been working on and off on this for a week now so forgive me for any inconsistencies. I hope you liked it. This time, I was inspired by a few other songs, mainly still Adam Lambert's. But there are those from Enrique Iglesias too.

So anyways, the second week of school has just started for me and I'm still adjusting. I never thought I'd still be this obnoxious to enemies and possible predators though… I totally needed the help of a good friend who was good at sighting them to point out those who she has seen glaring and staring rudely and rolling their eyes whenever we try to be friendly at them.

Anyways, I do hope you've enjoyed this chapter :3

I'll probably be posting up stuff less frequently now that school really has started. And I've got problems of my own starting to arise.

And as I said, regarding the summary, I'm taking off the 'becoming a rockstar' part because I find that really hard to insert into the story. It turns out that I have way more ideas for other things Al can do without the need to become a rockstar, but still being able to prove to Arthur that he is better off without the Brit. So, please forgive me for changing the plot so quickly.

Also… as for the new layout/formatting, as well as the new image manager setting, well, I got nothing to say, really. I could care less really and besides, it'd just take a little getting used to so it should be okay. Unless I find problems with it, then that's when I'd complain about it, I guess.


	3. A Visit

**Love is Not Forever**

Summary: Alfred is named to be a sore loser and a horrid lover by Arthur in one of their fights. So he dumped the guy, went off and proved to the Brit that he can do better without him. But still misses him. AU

Rating: T at most for maybe language, I guess. Rating might go higher up once I get to the latter chapters.

Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia.

* * *

**Chapter 3: A Visit**

Arthur woke up the next morning with an aching neck, a couple of numb limbs and a mending broken heart. He was thankful that the night hadn't gotten too cold, unlike in his homeland. Otherwise, he would have frozen to death.

He was just making his own breakfast when the phone rang. He didn't answer it. He felt too busy taking care of the eggs and sausages to bother answering it. But he immediately regretted it.

"_Hey yo! Artie and Alfred here!" _The answering machine echoed throughout the quiet house and into the kitchen, effectively paralyzing Arthur. _"If you wanna leave a message, just say it after the beep, okay?"_

Arthur blinked back the tears as he heard a smooching sound. That was Alfred, he could still remember, kissing him sweetly on the cheek while the Brit chuckled and playfully told him to stop in the background.

"_We'll promise to answer right away!" _His own happy, playful voice rang out from the machine's speakers. _"That is, of course, as long as this is not Francis, Antonio or Gilbert pulling a prank again!"_

Then there was a beep. The sound of a heavily accented voice broke him out of his forlorn reverie. Arthur blinked back tears as he tried to salvage the slowly burning sausages on the pan.

He sniffed, wishing he'd answered the call so he didn't have to deal with this, wishing he'd remembered that the answering machine held happy memories for the both of them. Arthur shook his head and put away his breakfast. He just lost his desire to eat. Well, it wasn't like he had any from the start. But now, he truly didn't feel like eating anything.

"_Bonjour, mon ami,"_ Spoke a familiar voice from one of the aforementioned names in the answering machine. _"Listen, Matthew called last night…"_

Arthur lifelessly walked into the living room where the phone was. He stared at it, wondering if he should answer it and avoid regretting again or listen to the rest of the message and avoid the trouble of having to talk to the man who had somehow, in one way or another, taken part in breaking up his relationship with his beloved Alfred.

"_I heard about what happened between you and Alfred…"_ Francis continued after a thoughtful pause, as if he had been choosing his words carefully. _"What he said about my magazines, it wasn't a lie—"_

Arthur chose the second choice. He raised the receiver to his ear and pressed the answer button before Francis could continue. "What do you want, frog?"

"_Well, mon cheri, I was just wondering if you were all right…" _Francis said sincerely. Arthur could tell that the Frenchman somehow knew that he was in the residence, but didn't know enough to bet if the Englishman would be answering the call or not.

"I'm fine. I don't need anybody asking me that…" Arthur bitterly answered. "If you have nothing important to tell me, then I will have to hang up very soon… I'm feeling a little under the weather today and I don't really want to waste my time talking to you."

There was silence on the other line and Arthur could tell that the long-haired blond was racking his brain for an excuse, an answer, anything to keep the line open between them both. "As I thought…" Arthur said before he slammed the receiver on its stand angrily.

Then he went upstairs to the bedroom and threw himself into the soft, seemingly-adhesive bed. But doing this only proved to have made him regret kicking out Alfred all the more. The man's scent filled his nose. The warmth that was no longer there comforted him and wounded him at the same time. And the American's long-gone presence seemed to linger in the side of the bed where he usually slept.

Arthur could feel the tears prick at his eyes again. He frowned. He hated it when he cried, most especially in front of Alfred. He hated being so weak in front of his lover… or rather, ex-lover. The Brit thought things over again for a good long while in the bed.

He ignored the roaring stomach of his, the beating, breaking heart, and the emptiness that seemed to consume him in the outgoing, cheerful American's absence, and eventually, he ignored the annoying ringing sounds that seemed to keep resonating throughout the room.

Arthur only got up when he realized that the ringing sounds were the sounds of his home phone, cell phone and doorbell. Ignoring the two communication devices that now conveyed voice messages and flashed the number of missed calls and texts, the green-eyed man groggily made his way to the door with the blanket wrapped around his body. He didn't want the warmth to go, despite the sunny weather outside.

"Who in bloody hell is it?" He asked monotonously, his voice tweaked with irritation as he opened the door. His dull eyes ran over the visitor—the slightly taller German, hair reflecting the color of heavy clouds and where a small yellow bird was perched, lively red eyes ready to create mischievous mayhem at any given moment, the paper bag of who-knows-what clutched in strong, lean arms. "Gilbert. What do you want?"

"Hey there, Artie!" The albino greeted to which the Brit reacted to with a surprised and hurt expression. The blond had forgotten that this obnoxious German brother was alike with Alfred in more ways than one, and this was just one of their common traits—both called him 'Artie'.

"Um… Artie? Hey, you really are sick, aren't you?"

The Brit blinked as a hand was waved in front of his face. He collected himself before he glared at Gilbert. "Don't call me that," he said. "And what do you want?"

"Aw, don't be so mean… The ever-awesome me has come to bring you some awesome stuff to eat," Gilbert said as he invited himself into the house. He went straight to the kitchen counter, Arthur followed behind just to make sure that Gilbert didn't touch anything that he may break in a split second with his ridiculous clumsiness.

The blond frowned when he saw the albino unpacking the contents of the bag; most included packs of hotdogs, burger buns, patties, mayonnaise, ketchup, bottled pickles and, thankfully for getting at least one thing right, tea.

"Would you care to tell me please why you've brought all this trash into my kitchen?" Arthur coldly asked as he walked towards the stove to put on the kettle. "You know I don't eat burgers or tolerate them."

"Huh? But Alfred loves these! So I thought you might want to prepare some for him," the thick-headed albino said with a smile. "And guess what? I even brought some spicy sauce just to play an awesomely-thought over prank on him!"

The obnoxious laughter and the waving of the small red bottle of chili sauce stopped when Gilbert noticed Arthur's actions come to a stop and his body started to shake slightly. "Artie?" he asked, frowning. "Hey, what's—"

"Don't call me that!" Arthur said, tears quickly making their ways into his eyes, liquefying his vision just slightly for the umpteenth time. He didn't face his visitor. He didn't want to and he knew he shouldn't need to.

He could imagine the German blinking behind him, mouth agape slightly in confusion. "Arthur, then…" he heard him say. "Arthur, what's wrong?"

The Brit didn't answer. And when he didn't, the older man spoke up again. "Hey, you know you can tell me stuff, right? We're like really, really, really good friends, right? Um… Arthur?"

The addressed blond sobbed, the weak and thin effort and under constructed dam overflowing once more. He leaned over the counter, sobbing even more. "A-Alfred… Alfred… left last night…" he cried. "I… I dumped him… I didn't… I couldn't… I had never thought things would turn out like this… I mean…"

The shocked albino gathered himself and stepped close to the crying Brit. He was surprised when he touched Arthur's shoulder and found the said man in his arms the next second, crying into his shirt. So to comfort his friend, he gently rubbed the other's back and hushed him.

Arthur was a proud and formal Englishman, Gilbert was sure, so he was not very likely to be so openly emotional to just anybody. It was the first time the albino had seen the smaller blond cry. And he had decided then and there that it wasn't a very pretty sight. In fact, it broke his heart to know that one of his friends had been hurt this way—the harder, nonphysical way. The kettle started to whistle then. Gilbert simply reached out to put it off before he went back to comforting his friend.

He wanted to understand what had happened. He wanted to know the whole story so he could comfort his friend better. But he stayed silent. He knew for a fact that if Arthur wanted to share, he would do so when he was ready. And if this break-up happened last night, then it would really hurt to think about it right away on the next morning and tell a friend about it. So for now, Gilbert decided, he would just shut up and comfort the Brit as much as he could. All his awesome plans for today would have to wait for another, more awesome day.

They stayed like that for a while as Arthur slowly calmed back down. When the Brit felt like he has embarrassed himself enough, he let go of Gilbert and sniffed. He took the kettle and poured its contents into a pot while glancing at his German friend's now slightly soaked shirt.

"I'll wash that for you…" he said as he put back the kettle on the stove and poured the water into a small ceramic cup. "There are a few of his clothes upstairs… You can use them, seeing as he won't be welcomed here anymore. It would be well to use one at least for the last time before I throw them all out anyway…"

Gilbert watched as Arthur put a tea bag into the cup and went to open the fridge and throw a soda can over to him. He caught it easily, having played ball with the American blond for a good few times in the past. "So… both of you are really done in, huh?" he asked with uncertainty.

"I'm certain. Now go and get your shirt changed…" Arthur said. Gil didn't need to be a psychiatrist to figure out and confirm that the blond didn't want to talk about it yet.

He went upstairs to where he last remembered Alfred's room was and rummaged the drawers for a shirt he found closest to his size. That is because even when it said medium on most of the shirts, there was a really big difference for each one. At least that's what he thought.

When he found a comfortable shirt, Gilbert went back downstairs to find that the blond Brit was in the living room. He was seated in front of the Brit who sipped his tea quietly, slowly while he stared somewhere past the television. Gil thought that Arthur didn't look any better this way either. Because even when he seemed to be so calm now, the albino could sense the chaos in his heart and mind.

There was a silence between them as Gilbert took his own drink and drank from it. The sounds only came either from outside or the flat screen TV. It took them both a very slow time of ten minutes before one spoke.

"You should know, shouldn't you?" Arthur suddenly asked as he continued to stare at somewhere else that was beyond the screen and the wall and anything else behind it.

"Huh? Should I know what?" the German albino asked in confusion.

"You should already know that Alfred and I are over… You are his brother's lover. It should only make sense that you would already have heard of the news," the Brit calmly explained.

Gilbert sighed. So that was what he was hearing last night when Matthew got a call from his brother. He had never really thought about it until they both arrived into the house just a few hours ago. He had wanted to ask Alfred a few questions and just chat with him for old time's sake (which wasn't very long) but Matthew had told him to let the older brother be since he's had a 'rough night'.

"I have a guess of the gist of what happened," the albino admitted, "More or less."

"I see. Then you should know, as a close friend, that I do not like it when my friends are in the neutral grounds," Arthur said, putting down his cup. "And since you are his brother's lover, I assume that you will want to take sides with him."

The German, starting to see where this is going, quickly shook his head and waved his arms in front of him. "No, no, no… I'm not going to take sides, Arthur. Taking sides when both my friends are fighting isn't very awesome…" Gilbert said. "So if you want anything, just be sure to always give me a call, okay? Even if I'm in the middle of doing something sexy with Mattie, I'll come and you can talk to me."

Arthur grimaced at the statement then he chuckled. It didn't sound right but he figured that it was maybe Gilbert's idea of cheering him up. "Can't you at least come up with something that sounds less… intrepid?"

"Huh? What's that mean?" Gil asked, laughing with the Brit. "Well, whatever. I'm guessing that means 'bold' or something…"

"Yeah, they're synonymous…"

There was a moment of silence before the Brit spoke up. "Gilbert, I'm fine now. Thanks for… dropping by. I never thought I'd live the day to be glad that you had paid a visit. But please, take those groceries away. I'll be buying my own soon so I'd appreciate it if you'd just put them back into the bag and get those fatty things out of my sight before I'm tempted to throw a burger again…"

"Wow, I think I've heard of a burger on Al's car last night. Don't tell me you're the one who threw it… because that's just totally awesome! I'd have thought it was a very ironic prank."

Arthur flinched a little at the sound of the nickname. He looked at the taller man and shrugged. "He deserved it," he mumbled before he finished his tea.

The albino laughed as he started packing the burger ingredients again. In his mind, he made a mental note to hear out Alfred's side of the story and see what he can do. If he finds the time, maybe he can even talk about it with Matthew and they both can make an awesome plan to bring those two together again.

Not soon after, he walked out of the blond's house with the groceries in his arms. He headed to his car and hoped that the blond really was all right, as he had assured a few times before the German left. "Mein Gott…" he said with a sigh as he entered his car. "This one seems serious."

* * *

Aaand… cut!

There, I'm done with this. Hope you guys like it.

I don't really have much to say right now. Sorry for the short chappie. I'll do my best next time, I promise! n

As I had said last time regarding the summary, _I'm taking off the 'becoming a rockstar' part because I find that really hard to insert into the story. It turns out that I have way more ideas for other things Al can do without the need to become a rockstar, but still being able to prove to Arthur that he is better off without the Brit. So, please forgive me for changing the plot so quickly._

Reviews are loved. Thanks for reading!


	4. A Sober Drunk

**Love is Not Forever**

Summary: Alfred is named to be a sore loser and a horrid lover by Arthur in one of their fights. So he dumped the guy, went off and proved to the Brit that he can do better without him. But still misses him. AU

Rating: T at most for maybe language, I guess. Rating might go higher up once I get to the latter chapters.

Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia.

* * *

**Chapter 4: A Sober Drunk**

Alfred sighed as he took in another gulp of the beer. It was a late Friday night, approximately nine whole days after their break up. He hated to admit it but he really did miss the annoying Brit.

After avoiding him, Alfred found himself still ending up before the Brit a few times—three, to be exact. The first was when they saw each other in the grocery the very next day after their break-up. His head had somehow boiled at the time when he remembered about the wasted burger on his car. It had been a pain to wipe the grease off his car, after all.

The second meeting was when he saw the thick-browed blond running out of his work building and into a nearby bookstore from the rain; most likely, he would be renting another one of those old Sherlock Holmes books again. Alfred had been stuck in traffic that day, driving at an unbearably slow speed after an unbearable slow day in work.

The third meeting happened just earlier that day. The American had stopped at a newly-opened café to try out a cup of coffee of theirs. It was there when he saw the Brit sitting on one of the tables outside of the store with a girl he's never seen before.

Alfred had frozen up on the spot with so much emotion running wild in him. He didn't know if he should be glad that the Brit he had loved (and probably still does) had moved on, or if he should be frustrated that he can't claim the beautiful green-eyed, thick-browed blond anymore, or if he should be angry that Arthur had moved on so quickly while he still found himself thinking so deeply about him at night that he once even reached the point of tears.

Collecting himself, Alfred went back into his car and left. He glanced back at the side mirror and felt a bit of sadness and anger. Though he wished not to be seen by the pair, he still somehow wanted for Arthur to at least have noticed or recognized his car. But no, it seemed that they were too busy talking about whatever it was that they were talking about to actually have noticed him.

Alfred sniffed as he took in another swig of canned beer. Matthew and Gilbert were out tonight on a date in an expensive-sounding restaurant. The spectacled blond took this chance to pull out the alcohol and enjoy it with someone. However, that certain someone he had called two hours ago still hasn't come by and he was betting that the guy would never come.

So Alfred took the beer all to himself. So even if that guy came in, well, he'd just have to go out again to buy a new pack of canned beers—his punishment for being late. Well, of course, that was _if_ he came around, which didn't seem at all likely as the minutes slowly went by.

It was around Al's fifth can when the doorbell rang. Groggily, the American somehow and very slowly made his way to the door to find an already alcohol-smelling French friend merrily waving at him. "Bonsoir, Amérique," the drunken Frenchman mumbled as he unsteadily made his way inside.

Alfred, having gotten used to being called that, closed the door behind his friend and pondered as to why the usually composed and flirty blond was drunk tonight. Surely he must have a reason to drink. He always does, unless his two best friends somehow gave him a dare or played a prank on him. But usually, they'd be in the same drunken state. And Francis was always the one who tucked his friends into bed after a couple of heavy rounds with the alcohol. He was always the least drunk. And for a reason, he never left his two best friends alone when they are drunk.

So either he had an argument with either or both of them or he had been dumped by a girl that he so badly cared for—which wasn't very likely. Alfred guessed that it might have been the former theory. In any case, he followed his friend back into the living room and pulled out some good old wine for him.

"Care to tell me why it's you I'm drinking with tonight, Frenchie?" the American mumbled as he sat back on the couch.

"Ah… Unforchunatli, Ah've been havin' eh rough week lately, mon ami…" the slightly slurred reply came with a heavier French accent this time.

Alfred was grateful that the man was sensitive enough to know that he wasn't in the mood to talk to him about the Brit today. But he so totally didn't answer the given question. Al would let that slide for now. He can just deal with this guy instead of the loud Spaniard he had asked for.

"Tonio and Gil 'ave both been leavin' me be'ind lately… It's unbee-lee-vabol that they would do that… I mean, after 'ears ov bein' a pain in each other's asses, they're actually thinkin' ov settling down…"

Alfred sputtered out his beer and coughed when he heard the last bit. "Say that again? Gil's thinking of settling down?" he asked. Well, of course, that meant his brother was involved. "A-are we talking about marriage here?"

"Oiu… It sounds ende—it looks like it," Francis mumbled as he took an unusually unrefined swig from the glass Alfred had provided him. Usually, even when drunk, he was well-mannered, in contrast to the American. But this time, it seemed he was really out of it.

"Damn…" Alfred mumbled as he opened a new can. He rolled his head back in frustration. "I can't even… Ugh… My younger brother's going to get married before I would… Now that hurts my feelings and pride!"

He watched the Frenchman reach for the bottle of wine. Unfortunately, it seemed he has had too much to drink and was already seeing in double. But Alfred didn't feel like really stopping him yet. Francis can handle more than he really let others see. "And Antonio?"

"Ee's… just proposed to his… Itali-an grouch last… last night…" Francis mumbled as he tried for the second and third time to reach for the bottle. Apparently, he can't even seem to judge the distance now. And it seemed he was seeing more than just double too.

Francis's accent was slowly becoming heavier. Alfred thought that only meant one thing—he was just about having enough. If he continued to drink, Alfred, as a friend, worried that Francis might hurt himself, especially now that he was in this sad, lonely state.

Alfred downed his newly-opened can of beer in a couple of gulps and stood up. "All right," he said as he staggered upright and around the table to Francis. "Come on. I think you've had enough for today."

The Frenchman pushed Alfred away and groggily reached for the bottle. This time he was successful, despite almost knocking it over. "Non, non, non, mon ami…" he laughed as he waved the bottle between him and Alfred. "Ay… can still 'andel my lickor…"

"Francis, you need to rest…" Alfred said. "Tell me exactly how many bottles of wine had you gone through tonight?"

Francis seemed dazed as he stared at Alfred, seemingly contemplating exactly how many bottles he had had. "A-ay theenk… S-se-sev… Sept… nott counting yours…" he mumbled, his accent somewhat going back to normal. But Alfred thought that was still too many. And he was sure that Francis, if he had not gone just before he arrived, would soon need the bathroom. And the guestroom provided less distance to the nearest lavatory than the couch did.

"Come on anyways, Francis…" Alfred mumbled, taking his friend's arm and slinging it around his neck. The Frenchman resisted. However he was too drunk to actually give a real fight, which Alfred was thankful for.

"Non, Amèrique!"

"Yes, Frenchman! You've drunk enough… Geez, you can't even give enough of a fight right now…"

"Non, non, non… I… I 'ave to kip drinking… Eet's my only escape."

"You've had enough wine…"

"Then ay will drink beer!"

"No! Not even beer… Come on, Francis, that's enough…" Alfred mumbled. "Look, I know you last a lot longer than you look when you're drunk but this is enough… You're going to kill yourself if you keep drinking from loneliness!"

"And who are you to tell me that, eh, Alfred!" Francis said, pushing the spectacled blond away and standing on his own two feet. Surprisingly, even his accent had somehow come back to normal. He was sober now. The Frenchman pointed at the cans of beer on the floor and scowled at Alfred. "Speak for yourself… Tell me how many cans have you drank the whole time since you and that bushy-brow have broken up, hm?"

Alfred blinked in surprise at the outburst. Then he cast his eyes down and calculated in his mind exactly just how many he had bought and drank (some secretly) in the past eight nights. Francis was right. Alfred had no right to tell Francis to stop drowning himself in alcohol when Alfred himself couldn't do it.

"I have a reason."

"And what is that? For you to keep seeing what you want to see? To be able to sleep without having to dream about him?" Francis said. His face showed so many emotions—anger, frustration, grief, understanding. Alfred could not even begin to think how he knew all those reasons. After all, what he felt was not loneliness from breaking up with a lover, it was, as far as Alfred knew, loneliness from being left behind by friends. There was a difference.

"Do you think I do not know how you feel?" Francis asked. His eyes suddenly looked tired and all those emotions had somehow gone, except for the loneliness. Alfred blinked, wondering what this French blond was telling him.

Francis, he did not seem to be the type to have such a sad love life. To Alfred, he looked so much like the man who could move on from any break up and look optimistically at them as the end of a chapter and the beginning of a new one. Francis was not supposed to understand. He was not supposed to be lonely even.

A sad, amused smile showed on Francis's face as he stared at the shocked American. "What? Did you really think I couldn't love as deeply as you do?"

"No, it's just… You don't seem like… After every break-up I hear about you…"

"Ah, you thought I was always strong enough to push through," Francis continued for Alfred. He sighed and took a seat back at the couch. He stared at the wine as Alfred sat beside him, staring at him. "Seriously, Amèrique… If you believe than then I don't think you would believe to hear that Ludwig can break, too. He is the toughest man I know after all, in heart and in strength."

Alfred stared again, wondering how Gilbert's brother came into the conversation. And he wondered just what the frog meant. "What?"

"It's only a matter of time…" Francis mumbled as he leaned back on the couch. "The little Feliciano is going to die soon, you know… I heard that he is sick…"

"Sick?"

"Cancer. It was too late when he found out. Already it was at the third stage…" Francis mumbled. "His brother was alarmed when he found out. But Feliciano did not want anyone to tell Ludwig or Gilbert or anybody else.

"Of course, I was part of the small medical team who diagnosed him and so I promised to keep the secret safe… However it looks like I just broke it," Francis forced a chuckle at his silliness and shook his head. "So please, Alfred, do not tell Ludwig… or anybody else. Feliciano wants to keep it a secret until he gains enough courage to tell his lover…"

Alfred looked down at his hands and stayed silent. Then he closed them along with his eyes and thanked God silently for sparing him and his lover from such a situation. He realized he preferred fighting and bickering with a very healthy and lively Arthur than loving him and knowing that he had a life-crushing illness and couldn't do anything about it.

Knowing this, Alfred knew he wanted to get back together with Arthur again and spend their time together as much as they can. Just like Feliciano and Ludwig, they had to just keep loving each other and avoid fighting again.

Then he looked up at Francis again and gave a small sigh before he spoke. "Don't worry, I won't tell…" he said.

And then there was silence. It kept itself there for a good few minutes. Alfred simply stared at the floor as he thought deep about the German and Italian's situation. It was pitiful. And it was unfair to Ludwig. He had a right to know, especially now while there was still time for the both of them. Why can't any of the others who knew see that? Why can't Feliciano realize that? Did he really want to waste the time that he still has?

Alfred made up a mental note to talk to Feliciano about it when he could. At least this case could help him divert his attention from his sad, pitiful break-up.

"I had a lover once…"

The words brought Alfred back. He looked at Francis and wondered how he can still be awake and hold his liquor and already be sober without passing out or sleeping. He stared quizzically at the Frenchman who had started with the wine again. But this time, he was only taking small sips at a time.

"She was beautiful, the most beautiful girl I'd ever laid my eyes on. And I've pretty much laid my eyes on a lot of beautiful girls, mind you," Francis said with a small chuckle. A fond smile crept up his lips and his eyes were staring back at some far-off place in a far-off time. "And she, well, she was different from most girls I've met."

"Was she French, too?" Alfred asked, out of curiosity.

"Yes, she was. I first saw her performing a song at a local club. At the time, I guess I was just lonely since I had survived another break-up from a girl named Lisa, who said she'd had enough of me and my ridiculous love for… love. Obviously, Lisa had only been after my body in the beginning so I knew what was coming in the end.

"Anyways, I introduced myself to the lovely lady after her song and I found myself forgetting about Lisa so quickly. This lady, she introduced herself as Jeanne. You know, like the saint. But she was more than a saint. She was a goddess. Yes, a little stubborn and a bit tougher than my type but I still loved her for what she was.

"We soon became lovers and it wasn't very long until I proposed to her…" Francis paused at this. He put down the glass on the table and rested his arms on his knees, hunching his back and hanging his head. Alfred blinked and stared at his blond locks that covered his face. He frowned, wondering what had happened to this Jeanne that Francis loved so much that he even proposed to her.

"What happened?" The American asked when Francis didn't continue. He heard a shaky sigh and noticed that his friend was crying.

"There was an argument…" continued the long-haired blond in a much quieter tone. Alfred had to lean in a bit to hear better. "It was just about something so small… compared to the many other things that we can argue about. But that was all that it took…

"I was a little drunk that day too… She noticed and she reprimanded me, told me I shouldn't be drinking on such a glorious day. I told her something like… the day is glorious and that's the reason I was drinking. I thought I was being funny, I guess.

"But she didn't laugh like she always did on all my other stupid joke-excuses. Instead, we just started arguing and… she got angry and walked out. I had guessed that she was just stressed out and very anxious from the wedding and the preparations and all that." Francis bent lower and rested his head in his hands. He paused for a bit before continuing, choking a little on his words. "The next thing I knew… She was found a few blocks from the church, bloody and dead and… mon Dieu. She… she had been a victim of a hit-and-run."

Alfred felt his heart fill up with empathy. For Francis to go through such a sad experience and still live on, get over it and still smile. For Jeanne to die on the day of her supposed wedding. For their love to be broken so quickly by one argument. For this Frenchman in front of him to lose everything in a blink of an eye.

Alfred didn't think it was fair for their love to end up in such a way. And then again, here he was—wasting his time and money on beer and its numbing effects and useless television shows, hating Arthur after seeing him with a woman yet still loving him deep inside, regretting his leaving and yet feeling relieved for the break from their constant bickering.

Here he was wasting his life on all that and hating his lover for the little things while in front of him sat a sad, sober friend who would give his life just to get his lover back.

Alfred could suddenly feel that he was wasting his whole life. He suddenly felt like he wanted Arthur back. But of course, getting back to Arthur would mean that he'd have to apologize and probably pursue him again. He had no problem with that. The only problem is that Alfred was not very sure if Arthur still loved him. Obviously he'd moved on because he was seeing some girl now.

Alfred felt hurt all over again. Arthur had moved on. Arthur didn't love him anymore and he was probably enjoying his time with that girl right now while Alfred was having this ridiculously late epiphany.

Who could be more miserable—Alfred, who was losing his hopes after just shortly having an epiphany and slowly giving up on his lover (who was thankfully still alive), Francis, who was blaming himself for losing his fiancé and didn't seem to be planning to love any other the same way, or Ludwig, who was still unaware of the heartbreaking truth behind his lover's smile?

* * *

Thank you for reading^^

Been a long time since my last update. I'm sorry. I didn't really think it would take so long for the plot to take form in actual words.

Oh as for the GerIta in there, I'm planning to write another story with the two as the main characters this time, same universe, same timeline. Just saying that as a heads up.

Been writing on and off in a couple of weeks so do forgive me for any errors. And I'm sorry for making up the French accent thingy. I don't know French and I don't hear a lot of Frenchmen talking in English with heavy accents so forgive me if I've made any mistakes on that one.


	5. Last Chance

**Love is Not Forever**

Summary: Alfred is named to be a sore loser and a horrid lover by Arthur in one of their fights. So he dumped the guy, went off and proved to the Brit that he can do better without him. But still misses him. AU

Rating: T at most for maybe language, I guess. Rating might go higher up once I get to the latter chapters.

Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia.

**Chapter 5: Last Chance**

* * *

"_He's not worth it, Alfred."_

"_I'll say. Now here, why don't you take a grog or two?"_

"…"

"_Guys, please… you're not helping."_

"_Not helping? How about we spell it out for you?"_

"_Yeah, would that help?"_

"…"

"_Oh please do. I'd love to see if you guys can actually spell…"_

"_That Brit doesn't care anymore. Didn't you tell us that he's gone off to date someone else?"_

"_Yeah. So doesn't that basically mean that he's gone from gay to okay?"_

"…"

"_Hey! What was that supposed to mean!?"_

"_It means, he's— Ow!"_

"_What this bastard means here is that you'd better back off and move on, man. Arthur's got a lady, which I'd say is the best for him, and you should probably go and look for one, too."_

"…"

"_Trust me, man, what you both really needed were the female species. That's probably why you didn't get along with each other so well."_

"_Yeah, admit it, Al. I know you find girls hot, too… Or at least that's what I remember from once upon a time. You were the famous jock back then and you always had a new girlfriend every week. What happened to all that!?"_

"…"

"_Do you wanna know what happened?"_

"…_?"_

"…_?"_

"…_g' on."_

"_I fell in love."_

* * *

He closed his eyes and leaned back against the bed where a passed out Frenchie had been placed. He bit his lips as anxiety started to overwhelm him. His heart beat wildly in his chest, in time with the steady beating of the rain outside. The alcohol was kicking in, giving him a strange rush of sedated adrenaline and a headache. He was going to call Arthur tonight, he had decided.

He stared at the Frenchman's phone on the floor just by their alcohol. He could use that. And Arthur would never know that it was him who called. He really just needed to hear the other's voice. That was all. He would just call the other and listen to his voice and hang up. He would resist the urge to answer back and surprise his lov—ex-lover. Yes, he wouldn't answer and he'd just listen like a creepy stalker. Besides, if he did mess up, it would be easy to blame it on the alcohol later.

Alfred opened his eyes. He looked for the Briton's name in the phonebook—with which he was not surprised when he found Arthur's number under the name of 'Eyebrows'—before he pressed the call button and lifted the phone to his ears. He waited for a moment. Hopefully, the Brit would answer it this time because it was Francis's phone and Alfred had hoped that Arthur would not mind answering the call if it came from Francis. He was hoping that Arthur would at least answer it despite the fact that he and the Frenchman were somewhat like sworn enemies-slash-friends because that's what they basically were, and people in such a strange relationship still tend to talk to each other over the phone, right?

"Please answer…" Alfred mumbled as he pulled off his eyeglasses and stared at the ceiling.

"Seriously, of all the possible hours of the day… What do you want, frog?!" An annoyed answer finally came. Alfred felt a smile form on his lips as he heard his love's voice again. He felt his heart beat even faster and he felt his head pound even louder. He suddenly wanted to apologize and tell him he loved him and just hold him and kiss him and do so many other things that concerned showing his love and regrets.

Alfred chose to do one thing at a time, forgetting about his promise to himself that he'd just listen to Artie's voice. He'd apologize first. Yes, it should be easy to say sorry. His pride shouldn't matter because if he let it matter more now, he would truly lose Arthur. And forever losing the annoying Brit isn't really an option right now and neither will it ever be one.

He opened his lips, but no words came out. Alfred froze as a different voice came from the background. It was high and barely understandable and Alfred didn't know what to make of it except that it belonged to a girl. He'd forgotten about her, whoever she was.

(It was strange though. He sounded a lot like little Peter, Arthur's little brother. That or the beer is kicking in harder than he thought. Though he was desperately wishing that it was the former guess.)

He felt his hopes plunge back below the surface. He felt his heart break. He felt his anger rise and fall in a messed-up, confused frenzy. Should he be envious or angry that Arthur had someone else now? Should he grieve because he was so quickly replaced?

Alfred didn't know what to feel except the sting in his eyes as tears slid through and the clawing cold emptiness inside. He felt as he felt earlier today when he saw the pair together in that newly-opened café.

"Well!?" An impatient voice sounded from the other line after having shushed whoever it's owner was with—probably in fear that the 'frog' would tease him for it. "Are you going to talk, you bloody frog? Because if you're not, then I'm going to have to hang up."

Alfred blinked as he was brought back by the voice. He gulped and gathered what remained of his courage. If he wouldn't be able to get back together with Arthur, it should be okay because Arthur can move on without the trouble he was having right now. All he just really had to do was to apologize. And then that would be it; that would be the end of their relationship and that would be all that he would need to do to be able to move on as well.

Because Arthur moved on. That's why Alfred had to move on, too. He had to show Arthur that he can move on, too. He had to show the Brit that he didn't fall so deeply in love with him and that he could get back from the fall just as quickly.

But the problem was that he really did fall for Arthur—so deeply, so much that he can't stay too angry for too long even if he wanted to.

"Francis, your silence is getting tiresome and it's starting to worr—"

"I'm sorry, Artie," Alfred finally said past the short erratic breaths he didn't know he was taking. He waited for a reaction, while at the same time in his head he was debating whether he should just hang up and leave it at that or if he should talk a bit more with Arthur. He wanted to make a quick decision. He wanted to decide on the second choice. But he can't—though he knew that he wanted, needed to know what Arthur would say.

"A-Alfred!?" Came a surprised reply after a few long seconds.

"Yes, love?" Alfred asked in a fairly gloomy tone. A sad smile tugged his lips, knowing that this might be the last time he can ever call Arthur that. He waited again, wondering what would come next.

"Don't call me that…" Arthur replied shakily. Alfred didn't know if it was from anger. He couldn't tell very well. All he knew was that Arthur sounded sad. But of course, Arthur wouldn't want Alfred calling him that anymore because he has someone else now. The sound of shuffling could be heard from the other line as well as a sliding door (which the American knew would lead to a small balcony that was a part of their 'dream house') opening and closing, followed by a steady, beating rain.

"Sorry… Alright then, Arthur," Alfred sighed. He rested his arm on the bed. Just holding up the phone was making him tired or maybe it was the alcohol. But he wanted to apologize and start again as friends with the thick-browed blond. "How are you?"

"I… I'm fine." Silence. "H-hey, Alfred?"

"Yes?"

"Why… I mean, what are you…" There was a shaky sigh before Arthur continued again. "H-how are you?"

Alfred smiled and chuckled quietly. "Yeah, I'm fine," he said. "I assume Peter is doing well, too?"

"Yes… He is doing quite well. Actually, I think he misses you, Alfred…"

"Really?" the American had to chuckle again at this. "I thought he hated it when I'm around."

"No, silly," the Briton laughed quietly from the other end with which Alfred found heart wrenching and relaxing at the same time. "He doesn't hate you. I don't think so. I think he just doesn't like it when you make burgers for him or beat him at playing your video games or tell him endlessly again and again about your theories about aliens."

Alfred listened with a smile on his face like a dopey idiot would smile to himself as Arthur started to rant. He had to admit, it was strange and awkward to be talking with the bushy-browed blond again after what's happened. Talking like this made it seem like nothing had happened at all. It didn't feel that way though.

He noticed then that Arthur was silent. He was just about to say something when the other called his name hesitantly.

"Yeah, Artie?" Alfred asked. He waited for another few seconds before he heard another (this time a little tired) sigh before Arthur continued.

"Forgive me as well… for ruining our relationship."

"Don't say that," Alfred said almost immediately. He shook his head and looked down as the memory of him telling Arthur who ruined the relationship came back. He had been regretting ever telling Arthur that. He didn't want to put all the blame on him but he didn't want Arthur to always be the right one. Alfred has his own say on things too and some of them were right, too. "I didn't mean to say that so please don't think that you really… Well, it is kind of your fault that we fought that time—"

"Alfred, please," the Briton cut him off. Alfred took note of the tiny bit of shuddering in his voice. "I know I was overreacting. I'm sorry, all right? So please just shut up about it…"

Alfred frowned a little. "Stand down, Artie," he said, trying to fix the damage. "That's not what I meant. I'm just saying that… you know, we kind of always fight lately but it's not like you're the cause of all that. No, wait! I, uh, I don't mean to say it's all your fault. I just mean that maybe you should, you know, try to loosen up a bit, a'ight?"

"Alfred, it really isn't all _my_ fault; I'm glad you've taken notice of that at the least. I'm not the one, after all, who called it off." Arthur said with a totally different tone now. He was starting to grow hostile, Al could sense it. But he pushed that aside and voiced a reaction that he couldn't seem to hold back.

"Now wait a minute, don't go around blaming _me_ now for breaking up. It's not like I wanted it. You were just too freakin' sensitive, Artie!" Alfred retorted.

"I'm _not_ bloody sensitive, arsehole!" the Brit said hotly over the phone. There was an irritated sigh. "Okay, look, if we're going to just start fighting again—and mind you, I didn't start this crap—I think it's better if we make this our last and just get on with our own lives, all right?"

Alfred frowned. Arthur wanted to fight and break up just like that?

Not that he was complaining. A lot of heat has built up now and he actually wanted to finish this once and for all. But for Art to be so straight about it just broke him a little. "I… you mean… j-just like that?"

"If you want to continue this tomorrow, I'll be glad to open my door for you one last time and just have a talk with you while you pack your things."

"H-hey now, you're not serious, are you?"

"I'm afraid I am, Alfred." An exhausted sigh. "We've been like this for a while now; since we started, actually. And I'm just tired of it."

Alfred felt dejected. No, he didn't want it to end like this. He called Arthur to make up with him so they can be friends and lovers again. "Arthur, please, no," he said, feeling desperate. "I'm sorry, okay? I'm sorry for calling you talentless in cooking. I'm sorry for being so insensitive sometimes and for just lazing around—"

"Alfred," Arthur's voice was stern now, and tired. "I've had enough."

"Artie, give me one more chance, please. _Please_. I promise I'll try to fix every crack in our relationship, if you'll just give me one last chance. Please?"

There was silence for a moment. And then there was yet another sigh, probably the thousandth one. And then there was a reluctant 'yes'.

Alfred's face split in half with a wide, happy smile—as if he was the luckiest, happiest bastard in the whole world, which he probably is right now.

"Thank you, Art," he said. He suddenly felt like telling Arthur about how he truly felt. And so he did, ignoring the voice that told him this one thing he was asking for will turn out into nothing but a waste of time and effort. "I love you."

"Goodnight, Alfred," was the weary yet gentle reply. "I'll see you in the morning. I… I love you, too."

"G'night. Sweet dreams."

"Yeah, you too."

* * *

After walking into the room and locking up the balcony door and finally getting back into bed, the Briton put down his phone on the empty space on the bed beside him and pulled the covers over him again. He took Alfred's pillow and held it close to his body, taking in the American's scent and curling around the soft pillow under the blanket.

"Alfred, you bloody wanker…" Arthur mumbled as he closed his eyes and hugged the pillow closer.

The American obviously didn't understand. Arthur was breaking up with him for a reason. And what was that reason—or rather, reasons?

_Well, _he thought bitterly to himself as he started counting off the grounds for his choice to leave.

_One:_ He was tired of their arguing. It's always arguing. If not, it's a full scale shouting session. And it was always petty things that caused them; a bit of jealousy here, a little mistake there, and a whole lot of misunderstanding everywhere were the common things that started quarrels.

_Two:_ Along with all that arguing, there would be insults and mockery for one another. Nothing but words that hurt; Catcalls, taunts, disdain. Sometimes,—_no, most of the time—_when this reason and the former were going at full speed, Arthur would find tears and a broken voice accompanying him to sleep, of course, along with a broken heart.

_Third:_ In the next few hours or on the next day after a petty dispute, Alfred would kiss him and they would make up after a thousand apologies were said. 'I'm sorry for being like this', 'I'm sorry for being envious; I just assumed that…', 'I'm sorry for this', 'I'm sorry for that', blah blah blah; nothing but self-loathing, self-pitying excuses for apologies. And in response to all that crap: 'Don't say that', 'no, you're not', 'hey, it's not like you did that on purpose, right?' Same shit, different ways of spewing them out.

Arthur sighed. He could write a whole book about why he'd rather break up with the American (and why he'd rather stay in love with him). Well, other than the major reasons, he had his own personal ones, of course (if those weren't personal enough).

_Even more personal reason number one:_ Arthur truly loved Alfred from the bottom of the bottom of the tippity-tip of his heart. And going through all that disagreeing just put him through hell and back and hell and back and hell again. Not that he'd mind, really. He'd do anything for the American; but he wanted to see what Alfred would do for him too. He wanted them to meet halfway. Why can't Alfred see that?

_Personal reason number two (and he isn't even conscious about this one yet, or may ever be conscious of it): _The Briton was protecting himself. He'd been in and out of enough relationships (this one wasn't an exception) to know his limits—mainly, up until how much pain he can endure. Arthur was just trying to keep pain out, even if he actually and unknowingly was just causing more to get to him.

Arthur groaned as he tried to clear his mind from all that. He rolled off to his other side and stared out to the wall in the darkness, seeing the wall sticker of a pastel-green, sausage-shaped rabbit with wings as the rain outside casted darker, erratic bits of shadows on the said sticker and wall. He smiled. Arthur named that one Flying Mint Bunny. He had always believed in things like that—in magic and ghosts and poltergeists and wizardry and maybe witchcraft, too; and so did Peter (which relieved him in a strange way, knowing he wasn't the only one who still cared about these things).

Arthur frowned as he remembered how they'd fight about it. Al would call him such a child. He would retort about the other's childishness which showed even more. Al would call him an old man then. And their petty spats would continue until they'd get tired of it.

Arthur sighed again. All he really wanted was a nice, steady relationship with Alfred. Was it too much to ask?

_Apparently_, he thought bitterly, answering his own question.

The Briton heard shuffling and he lifted his head to look at the general direction of the door. Peter had gotten up, again. The little tyke had always felt uncomfortable in the rain, especially when they still lived back in England together. It reminded him, and even Arthur sometimes, about bad memories from the past.

Arthur sat up and smiled. "Peter?" he asked, motioning for the child to come to him. "How about you stay with me tonight?"

The twelve-year-old looked down at the ground and stepped slowly into the room. "B-but… Isn't this yours and Alfred's room?"

It was Arthur's turn to look away. "Alfred won't be sleeping here tonight, Peter," he mumbled. He looked at the boy again, who was standing next to him this time. "So you can share the bed with me instead."

"Okay. Did the both of you argue again?" Peter asked as he climbed into the covers.

"Yes… But we just made up on the phone."

"But didn't you say it was 'Frog-cis' who was calling?"

Arthur had to chuckle at this. Peter uses Arthur's way of calling the Frenchman whenever they talked about him, and he actually put a little of his creativity into it, transforming 'Frog' into 'Frog-cis'. And the so-called, unwanted 'Frog-cis' had actually bothered to call in the middle of the night while Arthur had been tucking Peter into bed, or at least that's what he thought at the time before he had hurried out to his own room and answered the phone.

"No, it was Alfred. I just thought it was Frog-cis."

There was a bit of silence as Arthur watched Peter's face scrunch up in the dark, his thoughts probably deep. "Um…" the boy finally spoke after a time of pondering. "Is he coming back…?"

"Why do you ask, Peter?" Arthur said in curiosity. What did little Peter know about these things? Why is he suddenly so concerned about Alfred and him? He was just an innocent child, as far as Arthur knew.

"It's just because… you seem a lot happier when Alfred is with you. Even after one of your fights—"

"Arguments."

"Pardon me. I mean, even after one of your arguments, you still seem so happy when you're with him… But big brother, after that one, you had become so sad…"

Arthur stared at the smaller boy, asking himself how Peter even knew these things. _If it's the blasted albino's fault, I'll skin him alive for telling Peter about these problems that he's too young to even know about yet,_ he thought bitterly. _Or had I drank myself too much that I didn't even know what I was doing?_

"Big brother… What did he do to make you so sad? Did Alfred… hurt you?"

"Goodness, no," Arthur said, hushing the child. "Where do you even get these ideas, Peter?"

"I see you cry sometimes, big brother. There are nights when I can hear you from my room, too."

"Oh, I-I see… I… I'm sorry to worry you, Peter," Arthur said as he let his eyes fall away from his little Peter's gaze. He just realized how weak he had become; how powerless he had been to protect his beloved, chaste brother's mind from seeing the wicked truths of the world. But hadn't his goal once been to show Peter the ways to get around those wicked truths and accept them? Why was he himself then hiding from all those wicked truths, at the same time, hiding them from Peter who he vowed to raise strong and dependable?

"Don't be," the little blond's hands went up to his guardian's cheeks and he smiled brightly, much like Alfred did often. "I know you are human, too… You get hurt and you get wounds, but not real ones… I mean… they're emotional and… psy-psyco… sumthing-atic…?"

Arthur couldn't help but smile as his little brother's forehead creased up and as his eyebrows met in the dark as he tried to recall a certain word. "Psychosomatic wounds, you mean?" he suggested.

"Yeah, that." There was something in that smile on his brother's face that made Arthur cheer up a lot more than Peter meant for him to. There was a sharing of smiles and then a hug before the both of them decided to forget the rain and go to sleep.

But before Arthur closed his eyes, he asked little Peter one more thing.

"Where do you really get all these things, Peter? You know, they're not really things a child like you should know yet…"

"They aren't? Oh, I'm sorry…"

"No, it's not a bad thing. Actually, I think it's a good thing. I'm honestly surprised you've grown up in terms of… maturity."

"Well, don't tell anybody but you know what?"

"What?"

"Mum still talks to me," Peter slowly trailed off as he fell into slumber.

Arthur blinked, now wide awake. That cannot be. Their Mum had died two years ago.

* * *

Sigh, finally finished with this one.

And yes, the plot has been… err, slightly altered. But it will have the same expected ending nonetheless.

Okay, and that last bit was purely random, I swear. It was an idea that popped into my head that said, 'hey, you wanna try something knew right? Try inserting a bit of horror in here, why don't ya?'

So I did. Though I guess I can't really call it horror because horror basically involves scaring people. Well, unless it scared you guys, then I guess I can give myself a pat on the shoulder.

On another note, was Peter too mature for his age, you think? I think he was... or that's me being paranoid about character-age agreement. I'm sorry.

Anyways, I've tried my best to lengthen this in amendment for the long wait. So I do hope you enjoyed this chapter. Others will be coming sooner, let's hope.

So guys, please read and review. I'm always so grateful for your time, too^^


	6. Your Answer?

**Love is Not Forever**

Summary: Alfred is named to be a sore loser and a horrid lover by Arthur in one of their fights. So he dumped the guy, went off and proved to the Brit that he can do better without him. But still misses him. AU

Rating: T at most for maybe language, I guess. Rating might go higher up once I get to the latter chapters.

Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia.

* * *

**Chapter 6: Your Answer?**

Arthur bit his lip as he sat awkwardly in front of Alfred in his living room. He brought up the hand that held his cup of tea and took a sip.

The American arrived at around nine this morning with a bouquet of flowers and a gift box of chocolates—to which Arthur (tried to) reacted calmly and patiently with a hint of annoyance for Alfred's over-the-top scheme as well as amusement for his hopeless choice of gifts. Had he not seen the anxious look on Alfred's face before it lit up into his usual million-watt smile, Arthur might have been curt to him; he'd assume that the American had only been here to reclaim him with the plans to argue with him again soon. But then again, maybe it was just Arthur being too cautious and guarded.

After inviting the American back into what had been their shared home until the break-up, here they were now, sitting in front of each other in the living room with the tension hanging heavily in the awkward air about them.

"So anyway…" Alfred started, looking off to the side as Arthur noticed his hands curl up on his lap. "Last… I mean, yesterday, I saw you with a girl sitting at the new café and, you know, I guess I just want to know if… she's just your friend or something since I've never seen her before."

Arthur put down the teacup on the table and his eyebrows furrowed together. When had he ever been with a girl? He looked up at Alfred who met his eyes with curiosity and albeit of hurt in his own blue ones.

Arthur tried to remember. The new café… Oh. _That_. Well, that was a rather interesting story to tell Alfred. Though Arthur was already seeing how the man would soon be frowning about a part of the topic.

His expression softened into a less guarded one as a small smile appeared on his lips. Yep, Alfred was like that when it came to people like _him_, though Arthur had to admit, maybe the American was right in some of his unreasonable suspicions.

"Ah, yes," he said quietly. "I… I had only been there to try their tea when Yao came up to me."

"Yao?" Alfred repeated, clearly confused. Arthur could see it on his face, _What's Yao got to do with that?_ "Yao met up with you?"

"Yes, Yao Wang. There was no arranged meeting. We just happened to meet at the time at that cafe," Arthur explained. "I think the girl you're saying you saw at the time was Yao."

"Yao finally let his hair out of that ponytail?" Now there was amusement in the taller blond's eyes, bemusement was still lingering behind them though. He had also visibly relaxed from this unusually peaceful conversation they were having. But Arthur couldn't help but worry. What if they started arguing again sooner or later?

"I think he had no choice in the matter at that time. He had told me he was 'undercover', whatever that meant. I'd reckon he was hiding from that rumored Russian lover of his at that time." Maybe it had been a bad idea to tell Alfred about Ivan, Arthur mussed. "Of course, I had told him to go and face the man before things get out of—"

Alfred visibly scoffed almost immediately. "Yeah, I bet Yao finally saw how those communist bastards work… Dirty, just like their cause," he said bitterly as he crossed his arms in front of him, all anxiety and amusement replaced with plain, racism.

Arthur sighed as he took his cup and sipped from it again. It was interesting how his ex-lover can be a happy dimwit one second and then be an unreasonable racist the next moment. It was almost as if he was bipolar. Almost. "Alfred, you can't just assume that every Russian that comes your way is a bloody terrorist… or communist."

"But—"

"Alfred!"

"Wow! Alfred!"

The two blonds looked towards the stairs. Peter was there, smiling wide while still in his pajamas. The child then ran down excitedly down to get to the couple, almost tripping on his own feet a meter away from the American.

"Whoa, slow down, sport," Alfred laughed as he stood to pick up the boy and carry him effortlessly against his chest with only one arm—something the Briton couldn't really do since the tyke had turned ten. "Missed me, didn't ya?"

"You bet! I was wondering why you didn't come around anymore," Peter said. Then he seemed to realize something and pushed himself away from Alfred gently, blushing. "Um, you can put me down now."

Understanding his lover's brother's request, Alfred laughed and put the said eight-year-old down. "I see you're becoming a big man and all, huh?" he said as he ruffled his hair.

"Sure am!" Peter grinned widely up at him. "Big brother tells me I don't always have to act like one though. He said it's okay that I don't be one at home."

Arthur smiled at the two as they sat down and exchanged talks. He excused himself and went into the kitchen to prepare milk for Peter and instant coffee for Alfred, one he had bought just this morning because he had thrown away all the other things that reminded him of the man after they broke up.

He also bought cookies with the coffee earlier as well as some groceries and was just refilling the whole two jars (one for safekeeping and one that was blatantly displayed just above the fridge) when Alfred had come around earlier. And knowing how Al will complain about his skill in cooking (or lack thereof), he decided he'll serve the man and the child cookies instead.

He then went to the telephone by the island and called the man from next door, Tino Väinämöinen. The said man, together with his husband, Berwald Oxenstierna, would gladly help him and Peter whenever they were in a pinch. For example, that one time when they had just moved in and Arthur found his back door falling from its hinges, Berwald had almost wordlessly put it right back. And Tino, whenever he knew Arthur had no time for Peter, he would offer to babysit the boy until Arthur was done with whatever work he needed to do.

They were good neighbors and Peter liked being with the couple, especially Tino who undeniably had motherly instincts for Peter and every other child he comes across with. It only puzzled Arthur when he knew that they wanted a child but did not yet want to adopt one. If he remembered correctly, Tino had said something about their not being ready about getting a child yet.

"Oh, hello, good day, Tino. It's Arthur," the bushy-browed blond said. "I hope you're free right now… Oh, you see, I'm having Alfred over and we need to talk about a few things… Yes, actually, I was wondering if you could take care of Peter while we talk… Well, I'm afraid that this talk might just turn out into something the lad might not want to hear or see… What? N-no! I don't mean that—I-I meant things might just heat up and a fight may break again between us. Peter has seen enough of that from the both of us and I just want him to be happy and, well, seeing us fight obviously doesn't make him happy, or any of us for that matter… Yes… yes, thank you. Expect him to be there in about ten minutes. I'm just going to let him have a glass of milk and some cookies… All right, goodbye."

"I knew you'd come back," Peter's voice reached the kitchen easily just after he had put down the phone. Arthur was guessing he was snuggled against the man and sitting on his lap like he was his father; and somehow, he was—Peter looked at Alfred as a father-figure of sorts. Arthur should know; he wasn't all that dense to not notice how Peter felt safe, happy and distinctly comfortable whenever the 'hero' was around.

"I'm glad I did." Alfred's tone did not seem to go with his words. He sounded… albeit cheerless.

"I'm really glad you did, too. And I'm pretty sure big brother does," came the hushed reply. "You're going to stay this time, right, Al? You're not going to leave anymore right?"

"Is that an invitation for me to stay the night?"

"I guess. I want you to stay here tonight, and the night after that and the night after that and the one after that, too. Forever, actually…"

"Aw, that's real sweet, tyke. But you know, Artie and I aren't exactly lovers anymore."

"I know. That's why I want you to stay… so big brother would fall in love with you all over again."

Alfred's laugh rang through the house and Arthur smiled to himself. Oh, how he hoped things worked as easily as how Peter saw them. Also, now he had an idea how the boy had become so mentally mature. The bloody yank talked things like this with him like it was as normal as talking about his present for Christmas.

"Of course. That's also my plan, see. It's why I'm here. I want to make him fall for me all over again. And you know why I'm confident he'll do so?"

"Because you're the hero?"

"Exactly! And fair maiden always falls for the hero!"

"But… big brother's not a maiden."

"Maybe not, but he's pretty fair, ain't he?"

"I guess… His eyebrows are still too big to be fit for a fair one's, though, or a maiden's for that matter."

"I heard that," Arthur stated loud enough for the two of them to hear. He heard snickers and bits of whispering before he walked into the living room with the tray of the drinks and the plateful of raisin and oatmeal cookies as well as his teapot.

"I wonder how much he heard," Alfred whispered into Peter's ear loudly. Arthur noticed the supposed-to-be-hidden wink he threw at Peter and rolled his eyes. Something was up and these two were planning something.

"Yeah, I wonder… Big brother, how much did you hear?"

"Everything," Arthur deadpanned as he set the tray on the table and sat down and poured more tea for himself. Then he took the glass of milk and reached it out for Peter to take. "Here, drink your milk."

"But I'm eight!" Peter huffed as he turned his nose away from the glass.

"Yes, well that shouldn't stop you from drinking your milk now, does it?"

"But, but… I'm already big enough, aren't I?"

"Tsk, tsk, Peter. You really should drink your milk," Alfred said as he took the glass and offered it to the boy on his lap. He leaned in close and whispered, "Otherwise, you won't grow to be as tall as me or would you rather be just as short as Artie?"

Arthur narrowed his eyes at the two. He had heard a bit of what the American said but he didn't quite catch it all. He watched Peter glance at him before taking the glass hesitantly and drinking from it before smiling at them both. He shifted his gaze on Alfred who was now taking a bite from one of the oatmeal cookies delightedly.

"Peter, after you finish your milk and cookies, why don't you go and play a bit with Tino from next door?" Arthur said. The child nodded and drank up half of the glass, obviously delighted to have been asked to go to his occasional guardian. And then silence engulfed the scene.

"How have you been, by the way?" Arthur asked, realizing he had been somewhat rude not asking that earlier.

"Fine," Alfred just replied with a smile as he set Peter down next to him on the couch and took another cookie as the child did. "I've been working out a lot more."

Arthur let his eyes look over Alfred's body. Well, he had to admit, Al was a lot sexier than the last time he saw him but it's impossible that only a few days' worth of exercise can change him that much, right? "I can see that," he agreed with a smile.

"But don't you already have work?" Peter interrupted, peering over them from over his now crescent-shaped cookie.

Arthur looked at the child sharply. "Peter, what have I told you about interrupting other people's conversations?"

"I'm sorry. I meant… Excuse me, but don't you already have work, Alfred?" Peter corrected himself.

"Yeah," Alfred said. "But what I mean by working out is that I'm exercising to keep my body from becoming so fat…"

"Working and exercising is the same thing?" Peter inquired while his eyebrows reached out to meet each other in the middle of his forehead.

Alfred laughed and leaned back on the couch, putting a finger up. "No, no. Working is not the same as exercising," he said. Before the little blond boy could say anything, he continued. "But working _out_ is the same thing as exercising."

Peter blinked and dipped his head back in a slow nod. "Oh…" he said lengthily before he smiled. "I see now. I didn't know that."

"Well, now you do," Arthur said, smiling. "Now finish your milk quick so you'd have enough time to play with Mister Väinämöinen, okay?"

"Okay." Peter did as he was told, finishing his cookie and drink. He then licked the top of his lips before wiping it with his sleeve, which Arthur had to tell him off for, and excused himself. Arthur had to make sure he had his sweater on first before he accompanied him just next door, which to Peter's insistence was a very overprotective way that kept him 'trapped' from independence and self-discovery… or rather, in his own words, 'Please stop treating me like a child.'

After Tino had assured Arthur that Peter would soon be having fun learning how to play a flute, the older of the blonds went back to his house and closed the front door, walking in to find Alfred walking out of the kitchen with a refilled mug in hand.

They both sat down again in the den and tension hung about, though not as heavily as it did before Peter interjected. Arthur bit his lip as he picked up the cup of tea and took a sip from it. He let the silence hang for a bit before he cleared his throat and glanced at the American. "So how are Matthew and Gilbert doing?" he asked quietly as he set down his cup.

"Hm? Oh, they're doing good, I guess…" Alfred said as he did the same with his mug. "Mattie seems pretty happy with the guy and the fact that he's going to settle down. He still looks like a nervous wreck, though, even though the ceremony will be held privately with selected guests…"

"I see…" Arthur mumbled. For a moment, their eyes met and he felt a strange, familiar warmth build up inside him. Love? He sure hoped; he was actually wishing Alfred's last chance wouldn't blow because this was not only his but actually _their_ last chance together.

Though, he did feel a little envious of Matthew and Gilbert. They were much younger than Alfred and he yet there they were, already spending their lives happily together and even sealing their bond for eternity.

"Oh, right, I was supposed to give you this, too…" Alfred pulled out a small, honey-colored (or was it maple?) envelope from his pocket and handed it to Arthur. It was crinkled at the corners but he didn't mind. _To Alfred Jones and Arthur Kirkland_ was printed in a fancy cursive font on the corner. Arthur flipped it and found it sealed. "It's our invitation for the ceremony and the reception," Al added. "Mattie requested that we go together…"

Arthur was silent as he stood up and went get the letter opener from a drawer by the television. He slit the side open and sat down in front of Alfred, taking out the stationary and reading the invitation silently.

"Art, you know, I've been wondering... What if our relationship does get better… I mean, like, really, really better that we don't even fight anymore…" He heard Alfred say with hope in his voice. He's not the only one, if only he knew. "…and we also get married?"

Arthur froze. _Married?_ He blinked. _Marriage?_

Well, he'd have no problem saying bloody yes to Alfred but his mind and heart were in chaos—one said that it was irrational and they would eventually argue again with more words of pain for each other; the other told him it would be wonderful, they would be a happy couple even despite the petty arguments because they would apologize to each other and love each other dearly.

But Arthur knew better than to let his fantasies overrule his sense of reality. His mind was right, there would be nothing but heartache for the both of them. If small things were the cause of their usual quarreling, then what about the big issues that would come their way?

"Arthur?" Alfred's hopeful, anxious voice sliced through the Briton's thoughts.

Arthur blinked and let his eyes meet promising blue ones. Oh, if Alfred only knew how happy and scared he was right now. If he only knew how terrible it was for him to be afraid of the future and what it holds for the both of them. If only he knew how he still wanted to love him and be loved by the American… but was scared for their unpredictable future.

Well, but what was he to tell the American? He didn't even know how he felt or how he should feel for that matter. It was just chaos in him and nothing more. He looked away, staring down at his cup.

Then he heard Alfred nervously laugh, dismissing his words with a heartbroken smile and scratching the back of his head. "O-of course, if you aren't up for it, then I understand. I know we've just started talking to each other again and all and—"

"Alfred," Arthur said quietly, effectively making the bespectacled blond shut up and look at him. Their eyes met again and Arthur felt himself just drown in the blue orbs. _Nothing better to say but the truth._ "To be honest, I… you see, I-I don't know how I should react… I'm… I afraid that if our already broken relationship continues on like this… and we just happen to argue again—"

"Arthur," Alfred said with a sudden determination in his eyes that the Briton knew he wouldn't easily douse whatever he'd say or do. "You know, it's not always about trying to fix something broken. It's about starting over and creating something better, right? So please believe me when I ask you… that I want to recreate our relationship and make it better than the last."

The addressed blond was speechless. Alfred was asking for too much. Other than that, he was staring at Arthur too intensely that it was practically melting the shorter blond's insides, just like how he usually did with his smile.

"A-Alfred…" was the only thing Arthur could say as he tried to recollect himself. He looked away, unable to stare into those hopeful and determined blue orbs anymore, and sighed. "All right, we'll try again. But we'll try to take it slow this time, all right?"

When green met blue again, there was a spark in between them that lit once more and Arthur felt his heart truly melt this time when a bright smile shone his way. "Artie, you're the best!" Alfred stated happily as he jumped over the table and pounced onto the Brit.

"Ah! Alfred, no! Y-you almost spilled the tea!" Arthur tried to say as he struggled to free himself from Al's bear hug.

"Aw, come on, Art. We just got together and your tea is still more important?" Alfred teased. He then smirked and connected their lips.

Arthur didn't even think of stubbornly struggling against Alfred anymore. He wanted this, they both did. So what was the point in hiding his true feelings?

His answer came right then when the door burst open and a gasp made them both freeze and look up.

* * *

A/N: Important announcement regarding one of the characters: If anybody has noticed, I have changed Peter's age in here from twelve to eight. I can't work with preteens, seriously and honestly speaking and there is a good reason for me to change that. Simply put, an eight-year-old's innocence and naivety will fit the Peter in this story better than a twelve-year-old's somewhat grown-up and rebellious mind. I'm sorry for the inconvenience.

And yes, I am quite aware of their constantly changing feelings towards each other. That's… not really how I pictured they'd be. One was supposed to be very, very, very stubborn and the other was supposed to be very patient and very, very persistent. Take a wild guess.

Okay, ugh, story plot has changed again somewhat but don't worry, I have the perfect (but sad) ending already down on a (very) rough draft.

Anyways, enough with the clues and on with the notes, I wonder if someone understands their situation—you know, like, you like someone but you want to hate him for being a jerk but you still can't help it because he's just so… you know? Meh, whatever.

Now let's all wonder who that mysterious person is while I thank you all for reading, ask you for reviews and say that's all for now, all right? If you find any mistakes, please do just say so.


	7. On hiatus

I am officially putting this story, Love's Not Forever (USUK), on hiatus.

The reason why I'm doing so is because the happenings within the story are of no synchronization with the summary presented.

And so, in a while (presumably, it would be a rather long one considering I have a life to life), I will rethink the whole thing and write a solid draft that will require minimal changes every time I try to finish a chapter because, damn, I am not good with sticking to the original plan and I will always want to change something about the story every time I write a chapter. It's like I'm drabbling every freaking time because I just didn't _ever _stick to the plot of, strangely, only this story entirely.

Yes, I did keep the basic plot in mind every time I wrote, however things always just change and I can't seem to stop myself from adding additional changes because they always seem such good ideas at first… until I realize that I'm going to end up making a more complex story that I can never even hope to finish in the first place.

I mean… don't you guys _ever_ get moments when you just want to add in one idea into your story while you're trying to build up tension or bonding moments? And then one more idea comes along and another would add and so it would keep going until you can no longer discern which one you want to keep and which you want to reserve for another story or something because all seem to fit the characters so well and you just cannot afford to miss out on it. Ever had that feeling?

While you're answering all that in your head, I'm going to discuss this other problem I'm having with this story:

I just can't break their hearts.

It's either I'm too nice or I just can't find it in me to destroy that relationship I believe Arthur and Alfred would always have, no matter what. And so, I always end up making the two make up every damn time.

It's annoying, I tell you. I can't make things go the way I really want them to because this strange, random emotion comes out from nowhere and I would find that I just wrote a chapter that was concluded with yet another make up of some sort. And then I would _not_ want to take it all back because I've written something and I know that it's good enough to be in a story but I know that it's not supposed to be in _this_ story.

So, yeah, you get the problem… I can't concentrate on this story until I make a damn solid draft. I'm sorry, guys…

I apologize for making you wait oh so long for updates only to have you read the horrible chapters that don't coincide with your expectations which are solely based upon the summary which does not correspond to the chapters; and I apologize for putting this story on hiatus all too suddenly.

(Heh, I had an inkling that this would not go the way I would need it to from the start anyway... I just had to listen to my optimistic, ambitious and highly undependable side, didn't I?)

With all that said, I do hope you would still continue to read the other stories that I am working on and will be posting online sometime within this month of love.

And seeing that I most likely wouldn't have time to post something up by the 14th, everyone, have an advanced greeting from me, Happy Valentines day!

(Although, if I _might_ just find the little time that I need in order to write even just _one_ fan fiction regarding one of my OTPs, then maaaaaybe I could greet you all then and there on that same day :3)

(PS: Just so you all know, there is a residing and growing fear within me wherein I just might end up not finishing this story at all—as well as my fanfiction under Tiger&Bunny, Fears and Dreams—and that this account may just as well be useless as the last one. Oh, I do hope that would not ever turn out to be the case.)


End file.
